From the clouds to the sun

We returned for 12 brief days to the cold wintry United States for medical appointments, like annual physicals, which are part of our medical insurance and therefore worth pitching up for. In total I had 6 appointments during those few days, and the last one was with the dermatologist. 

Boston skyline from Nahant

I immediately recognized the assistant who called me in, usually a dermatology student in training, who stays for the duration of the examination, observing and learning. But this was one of my ex-students, Kevin, which kind of filled me with anticipatory dread. This young man would be seeing his old Art teacher totally naked! But then I steeled myself, and thought, "Let him see this amazing old body, with all its wrinkles, scars and age spots, which has borne four babies, gone through cancer, illnesses and all, experienced LIFE!, and still holds me upright and without much pain, still functions brilliantly in every way. Here I am!" But after the prelimaries, and much smiling and remembering and catching up, he said,"Alright, Mrs Bouwer, I'm going to hand you over to someone else." Which was a relief, really. 

It was also lovely to be back and reconnect with old friends, and we have some very kind ones who offered us their generous hospitality, such warmth in the midst of all this frigidity.  

The elegant Milo, who we looked after.

My misty meadow with Molly the sweet dog.

So strange and quite difficult to land at Logan Airport and not drive home. So familiar to drive down habitual streets in our own car, but not our place anymore. Funny how we "own" places.  For 11 years I had "my" meadow, a wild piece of land behind our house, until it was sold, which broke my heart.  It was the most beautiful alive place where I knew every tree and bird, every rabbit warren and fox-den. A miraculous place where my bees lived, where I learned to run, (I had never been able to before, being a chronic asthmatic, but I ran in my meadow every day for a year and then ran a five mile race, coming dead last, but such an achievement!)  It was where I could cry about my mother's death or rage against whatever it was I was raging against at the time, or be delighted by the all the monarch chrysalises on the tall milkweed, or amazed by the intricacy of a bird's bleached skull, "where the brain had been, / that fixed the tilt of the wing"  -from a poem by Hugh MacDiarmid.  A few days before we left, I said goodbye again to "my" beach, where I walked every chance I had. 

White horses on Good Harbor Beach.

On Friday we drove to New Haven, staying one night with Matthew before beginning, on Saturday, what turned out to be an Odyssey to get to Mexico City, documented in Tim's blog http://timbouwer.com.

So lovely to see my old familiar paintings on his walls.  This one is Ida and the Daffodils, done when I was 19 years old, long long ago, and who I tried to throw away but who was rescued by Matt, because he believed the painting should stay in the family, as she has always been part of our home.  

Tim working and Matthew reading, New Haven.

Our trip from New Haven to Mexico City was fraught with difficulties, but there were some moments when I realized that I am not as brave as I thought I was.  The first came at the top of an escalator where Tim had gone down with his bags and one of the big suitcases, but I was paralyzed at the top with my backpack, my rolling-wheeled carry-on, and the other big suitcase.  I just couldn't do it, didn't believe I would keep upright, knew that the suitcases would pull me over.  Tim of course leapt up the stairs two at a time when he saw me hovering indecisively (we were late for the train) and grabbed everything, expertly maneuvering both cases down the escalator with ease.  I suddenly realized how my mother had felt, as she was terrified of escalators in her old age, would not go down them for anything.  I remember being sympathetic, but not really understanding her fear.  

Leaving Austin, Texas, on the last leg of our journey, we took off in a thunderstorm, and then hit the worst turbulence for about 25 minutes!  25 minutes is a very long time to deal with your aeroplane leaping about seemingly without much control.  It was almost like a video game, as our plane swung this way and that, banking around the massive thunderheads, trying to avoid the worst of the storm.  Even though I know that it is still pretty safe, I was so frightened that I almost lost my breath at times.  Tim sat calmly beside me and patted me patiently, put his arm around me, and said, "Even if we do crash, it will be alright to die now, won't it?  We've had brilliant lives, we're getting old, and our children will inherit some money!"  I told him to shush, that he could only say such things once we were back on terra firma!  

After the worst of the storm, levelling out.

So some things are hard, but I strive onward, challenges abound, and I continue to (try to) meet them with grace.